hear me out. boxer carlos and med student jannik roommates
carlos who's this crazy feral dog whenever he fights, blood dripping from his bare knuckles and staining his mouth as he bares his teeth at the opponent. completely different from his personality outside the fighting ring where he's all easy smiles and warm words around the gym. each scream from the public entices him to push more, hit harder, leaving his adversary at his mercy. like an entertainer, juan carlos usually scoffs, amused when carlos gets deeper into the zone as the match progresses. and carlos never denies it, because why would he? it's the truth, he loves all the attention and the praise, especially after he met him.
his jannik who once before was just his beautiful and smart med student roommate, but now he also makes carlos stop and stare by the entrance of their small kitchen, feeling oddly warm on the inside at the cozy view of jannik making breakfast for both of them in the early hours of the morning with his disheveled soft red curls, glasses perched high on the bridge of his freckled nose and sluggish movements from another sleepless night of studying that was interrupted by carlos' storming into his room for his usual small patching up.
he wants him. he wants to reach under jannik's sweatshirt while he's cooking, just to rest his hand low on the toned planes of his stomach, thumb brushing the waistband, just so jannik forgets what he's saying mid-sentence. jannik would probably let him, even praise him for it, but carlos never has. yet.
then, jannik starts coming to his matches, despite the slightly illegal aspect of his job. one day, carlos gets off his phone with juan carlos with a new match scheduled and jannik shyly asks if he can come along. and watch. carlos brightens up and throws himself at him, his arms looping around jannik's neck, nuzzling into the pale skin of his collarbones. he wants to bite it. "of course, i want you to watch me win!" jannik playfully scoffs at his arrogance and, after a moment of hesitation, his hands carefully settle at the small of his back. carlos promptly chooses to ignore the low heat starting to coil in his stomach.
the matches are held under the gym he practices at, the underground club lights up at night with the fighting ring right in the center of it. for the entertainers. bets are placed, shots are poured and the music blasts loudly through the speakers as carlos makes his way to the locker room. carlos throws his purple jacket into his back and sits on the bench with a small groan. his muscles ache with a dull pain, the effects of his gym session in the morning, but not enough to incapacitate him in any way.
"carlos, you're up in 10. go wrap you hands." juan carlos says through the closed door. carlos grabs the tape and loops it around his wrists and back around his hands. he hasn't seen jannik yet, but he knows he's there. he can feel his eyes following him around the cramped club, and imagines his shy, polite jannik pushing through people without a care, just to get to the best seat in the house by alvaro and his friends' side.
carlos climbs into the ring and that primal, feral feeling is there again, fuelling him to beat his opponent into a pulp. his eyes find jannik's dark stare across the room and the hunger amps up to a thousand. keep looking at me. don't stop. he flexes his fingers and counts to ten. it's time.
the show starts now.
